The forest looked different in the morning light—too still, too alert, as if the trees themselves had heard the warning and were holding their breath.
Alyss stood in the center of the clearing, her palms faintly glowing with the residual threads of light that had woken her hours ago. Her heart was beating too fast, her blood humming with a power she still didn't understand. It moved under her skin like something restless, something alive.
Seven days.
Seven days to survive her own awakening.
Seven days before the Shadowborne came for her.
Raven watched her from the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn't said a word since the cloaked figures vanished. He didn't have to. His silence was louder than any spoken fear.
Alyss swallowed hard and forced breath into her lungs. "Say something," she whispered.
Raven's eyes snapped to hers—dark, fierce, tortured. "I'm trying not to say the wrong thing."
"You won't."
